


The Seven Deaths of the Prince of Heart

by LeafStitch



Series: what if the kids decided to be gods after the game, like, for academic reasons [1]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Gods & Goddesses, Canon-Typical Violence, Dirk Strider's Issues, Earth C (Homestuck), End of Act 6: [S] Collide, Fairy Tale Retellings, Fairy Tale Style, Gen, Greek Mythology - Freeform, Inaccurate Ancient Greek Religion & Lore, Inspired by Orpheus and Eurydice (Ancient Greek Religion & Lore), Inspired by Tam Lin (Scottish Folk Tale), Inspired by The Fall of Icarus (Ancient Greek Religion & Lore), Introspection, Minor Jake English/Dirk Strider, Mythology As A Giant Game of Telephone, Non-Graphic Violence, Scars, Temporary Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-22
Updated: 2020-01-10
Packaged: 2021-02-18 01:50:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 17,156
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21519940
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LeafStitch/pseuds/LeafStitch
Summary: You’re exploring the Human Kingdom in some kind of disguise one day, when you find a myth book about… you. Not all of you, not the whole group and all of the gods, but you specifically.The Seven Deaths of the Prince of Heart.Dramatic, you think. There’s no way you died that many times.Seven myths regarding the Prince of Heart's deaths, and how they actually happened.
Series: what if the kids decided to be gods after the game, like, for academic reasons [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1762837
Comments: 40
Kudos: 114





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> sburban mythos! kinda went ham on this today, more chapters to come as i avoid more work lmao
> 
> also, fun fact: the absolute value of dirk strider dies ten times in homestuck canon. if youre counting epilogue nonsense its eleven but i dont :)

Five thousand and ten years after the world was new, you all find yourselves listless. You’ve done the things you’ve wanted to do, you’ve found temples to yourselves sunken deep into the sea, you’ve lived normal people lives, you’ve done normal people things, and you’ve grown up. And you’ve grown restless. It was interesting being teenage gods in a modern, mortal world, but son of a bitch, you’ve gotten bored, too. And now you’re all just adult gods, doing vaguely adult things, running companies and doing, what, taxes? Those of you not actively ruling things are paying taxes, you guess.

It starts out as one of Dave’s ideas at the tenth annual Can City God Meeting. You’re all adults now, your mid-twenties making it seem like you all have shit figured out. The trolls are all reaching their twelfth sweep, time only showing in their horns and irises, jade and candy red and cobalt blue with age. He pitches it to the table pretty simply.

DAVE: so were all bored as hell

You hum in agreement; Rose and Jane nod.

DAVE: and yknow how theres all those myths of us appearing to old settlers and shit?

You’re… not sure where this is going, actually.

JADE: sure…?   
DAVE: and you know how we jumped forward five thousand years to get here   
JOHN: get to the point, dave.   
DAVE: what if we go back   
DAVE: and make all that shit happen  
DAVE: like for real

Rose puts down her knitting needles.

ROSE: Are you suggesting we return to this world’s inception and become gods?   
DAVE: exactly   
DAVE: im sayin we go back n be gods n stuff   
DAVE: rule over dominions and shit   
DAVE: make prophecies   
DAVE: invent things for people   
DAVE: there might be some paradoxes or whatever but thats fine i mean  
DAVE: were all basically paradoxes anyway

The table is quiet. You’re all considering what Dave’s just put on the table. It’s certainly an idea. There’s an old story in every children’s myth book about you. A woman went to the altar of the Prince, hoping for favor from the often-distant god, and begged for the body of a man. The Prince took pity (or, in some versions, said “Sure bro, got it,”) and changed the woman to a man. The Prince also gave him skin of stone, so that he would not be harmed by any blade. Sounds like something you’d do. You get it. Skin of stone would be pretty rad too. You kind of want to know now if the myth is true. You want to be able to give exact quotes to the mythology buffs you absolutely would have been if you had lived in an era of a populated internet.

Jake’s the first answer.

JAKE: We could build our own olympus!   
JAKE: Find a nice mountain, pretty up the... transportalizers,  
JAKE:... Hide it… from people and...

He trails off, voice getting quieter and quieter as he went, and decides it better to just twiddle his thumbs and stare at the table. Vriska laughs.

VRISKA: 8eing a god would be fucking gr8, don’t get me wrong, 8ut wouldn’t that be tacky as all fuck?   
VRISKA: An Olympus? Talk a8out cliche, English, come up with something original!   
ROXY: like ud even KNOW what olympus IS serket!   
ROXY: a cool ass kingdom of just us in the CLOUDS???? FUCK yes   
KANAYA: Well, There Was Trollympus.   
KANAYA: In Theory, All Ancestors Went There Post Mortem And   
ROXY: really not helpin my case here kan   
ROSE: Jake’s right.

Rose has picked her knitting back up, needles clicking together as she starts another row.

ROSE: An Olympus of our own could be interesting. The hilarity of being roommates with the added bonus of being immortal. Imagine the hijinks.   
JANE:... What about all those people who say they’ve seen us in the last five thousand years?  
JANE:... Who’s to say that they didn’t actually see us, if… we haven’t experienced it yet?

The table is quiet again. Everyone seems to be considering. You’d bring the alchemeter and other tech, wouldn’t you? You’d still have your own creature comforts in whatever godly home you come up with, no matter how medieval the world outside may be. John - ever the leader, no matter how secluded he gets - speaks up.

JOHN: should we put it to a vote?

Everyone kind of looks around the table awkwardly. You can’t handle it, someone’s gotta get this in motion.

DIRK: Sure.  
DIRK: Let’s vote on it.

You do it the same way you’ve done all your other super important godly votes: you pretend you don’t recognize each other’s handwriting on each piece of paper placed in the voting cup, and read them all out once the votes are in.

It’s a unanimous yes.

* * *

It feels, all in all, like you’re just moving house. You’ve got all your prefabricated robotics parts in a couple different boxes. The TV and movies are in a box, Jake’s relics were donated to a museum, all your bedding is sealed into something waterproof. You have ideas as to how the house of the gods will look, but you’re sad to leave this one behind. A couple of curious consorts ask where you’re going with those boxes, and how long you’ll be gone. You tell them it won’t be too long, you’ll be back soon.

You took a closer look at some of those children’s mythology books. They generally reiterate the same myths - the Seers, Light and Mind, giving advice and, allegedly, turning the Thief into a spider; the Page causing eternal nights in his sadness and bringing daylight at war’s end; the Maid restoring life and wellness to sickly children; the Rogue creating food and objects by wishing them into existence; the Sylph, Mother of Trolls, rescuing the Mother Grub from dangers unknown; the Knights, Red and Grey, fighting off evil creatures when the Heir went missing; the Witch creating the stars.

And, of course, you, the Prince, doing what you always do: creating, destroying, changing yourself and others and losing your head when things go wrong. The books always describe you as cool and distant, fiery and temperamental up close, filled with rage and loneliness and sadness and pain. They always describe you, though, as finally cracking when the other gods are around, finally allowing your stone facade - depicted as a literal stone mask in some illustrations - to break away and show your true, caring nature.

A generous depiction, in your opinion.

* * *

You’re exploring the Human Kingdom in some kind of disguise in the days before you leave for five thousand years, when you find a myth book about… you. Not all of you, not the whole group and all of the gods, but you specifically. _The Seven Deaths of the Prince of Heart._ Dramatic, you think. There’s no way you died that many times. You purchase the book, go home, and turn to the first chapter.


	2. The Labyrinth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Prince builds a labyrinth to keep the other gods safe, to keep a monster inside, and to make sacrifices to the thing he created.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> remember that philosophical plot twist thing in detective pony? yeah

You sat in on a university-level theology class once, hanging out in the back with a pair of reading glasses covering your artificially blue eyes. They were covering this myth that day, and you laughed along with the rest of the class when one student said, “The Prince is fuckin’ emo, that’s what he is.”

* * *

The Prince often locked himself away when he got in one of his moods, building in his workshop for months on end until he deemed his project complete or until one of the other gods got him to stop. One day, his brother, the Red Knight, inadvertently compared him to a monster, and the Prince locked himself away. His workshop, deep in the center of a mountain, was closed off to all who tried to enter. He worked for months and months, building walls and tunnels to keep any of the other gods from finding him. He never seemed to be done, constructing more walls every time one of the gods started to get close to the center, making sure they became more lost. And every time, they would get so lost that they called upon the Rogue, asking her to save them.

The Red Knight, the Prince’s brother, tried first to find him. He did not make it even halfway through before meeting a dead end. The Witch tried next, finding more paths than the Red Knight but finding just as many more dead ends. The Mind Seer tried next, seeing which paths the Prince had built most recently, but got lost in the old ones.

The Heir was after her, using his power of wind to see where the breeze would flow, but the Prince had become smarter; he led the Heir up, out of the mountain entirely. After him, the Thief tried, asking the Heir to drop her in from the top of the mountain. But she did not know her way in, and, therefore, did not know her way out. The Maid tried after her, sensing signs of life, but the further she got, the more dead the maze seemed.

The Grey Knight tried next, going in with chivalry and courage, but his shouts echoed so loudly off the walls that the Prince found him, built walls around him, and made it impossible for him to get out. The Sylph went, calling quietly and asking the Prince to simply come out, perhaps to talk. She got lost in the halls the further she went, and cursed his name when she could not find him. The Light Seer found where the Prince hid, yet could not find the proper route through her visions.

It was the Page who got the closest, believing that he could find the Prince’s workshop so much that he got to it, but found it completely empty.

After many years, it was finally the Rogue’s turn to enter. She entered the labyrinth, calling for the Prince. The sound echoed off the walls, and the Prince thought it was time to perhaps move his workshop deeper underground. Perhaps he did not want to be found. Perhaps, he thought, he did not deserve to be found The Rogue knew something he did not, though. She had been to every place the other gods had managed to reach, and she knew the other gods wanted him back.

She did not announce her arrival to the mountain, and did not call for the Prince as she entered the maze. She found a dead end and focused hard, remembering the workshop from when she rescued the Page, silently appearing in it seconds later. The Prince was there, surrounded by gears and hammered metal, seemingly asleep on his desk. She shook him, yet he would not wake. The Rogue feared the worst, taking hold of the Prince and bringing him out of the maze the same way she did with all the other gods.

In the home of the gods, the Rogue laid the Prince on the Maid’s altar, and with a touch, the Maid brought the Prince back to life. When the Prince awoke, he found himself surrounded by the other gods, all begging him to not lock himself away again. When the Red Knight asked why the Prince felt it necessary to lock himself away, the Prince said that he was a monster, and that monsters should be unable be found. The other gods made the Prince demolish the maze in his workshop, the ways in and out clear and without twists or turns.

* * *

The world is some thousand years old when you start losing parts of yourself, start acting weird, start feeling all of your splinters try to take you over. You’re in the living room with Dave when a sharp pain shoots through your chest, like a sword to the sternum.

DIRK: Fuck. Ow.  
DAVE: what is it  
DIRK: Felt like I just got fuckin’ stabbed.  
DAVE: is it like  
DAVE: heartburn  
DIRK: No.  
DIRK: ...  
DIRK: Where’s Cal?  
DAVE: callie?  
DAVE: pretty sure shes doin her muse thing out in that temple  
DIRK: Not her. Cal.  
DAVE: …  
DIRK: Where’s the fuckin’ puppet, Dave.

You stand up, feeling too short in your body, pissed off and itching for a fight. Where are your shades? You glare down at Dave, and he looks freaked out. That pings something in you.

DIRK: Fuck.  
DAVE: …  
DIRK: I need to go.  
DAVE: …  
DAVE: i know youre not him  
DIRK: He’s still a part of me.  
DIRK: He’s still in here and still trying to get out.  
DAVE: he was a monster  
DAVE: youre not  
DIRK: He’s me. I’m him.  
DAVE: dude weve been over this you  
DIRK: I need to go.

Dave tries to get up to follow you, but you kick off at the front door and fly to your workshop, slamming the heavy iron door behind you. You need to get the splinters under control. However much time that takes, you’ll do it. You build a maze, Minotaur that you are, and keep yourself at the center. You don’t need to find the exit anyway. It’s not like you’re going anywhere.

After a week of building tunnels alone, getting used to the quiet and the versions of you all fighting for control, you hear Dave’s voice echoing around.

DAVE: dirk  
DAVE: dude i know youre in here

You abandon your tools and get back to your workshop, his voice getting further away.

DAVE: did you build a fuckin maze  
DAVE: you know thats like  
DAVE: dramatic even for you right

His voice is muffled as you close the workshop door.

DAVE: you cant hide forever dude  
DAVE: im tryna check in and worry about a bro you know

You hear him moving around, calling and talking to himself for what feels like an eternity, voice closer and further away and still muffled. He seems to give up eventually, and you sigh in relief. You start dealing with the splinters one by one, beating down any versions of Dave’s brother that tries to arise. You pull those pieces out of your soul and destroy them, destroy him.

You’re not sure how much time passes before Jade tries to find you. You built more twists and turns in the labyrinth, more dead ends and more loops back on themselves. You’re in the workshop when you hear her.

JADE: dirk!!!   
JADE: where are you!!!!  
JADE: we miss you!!!

Sounds like something someone trying to draw you out would say. You don’t say anything, and hear her get lost. You reinforce the tunnels, make them harder to navigate, add some air vents to throw anyone off if they try to fly in. You think you hear Terezi wandering around, claiming she can smell you, but she sounds far off, nowhere close to where you are. You don’t bother reinforcing the tunnels this time.

However long after, a breeze blows through the tunnels where a breeze should not be blowing.

JOHN: dirk!  
JOHN: we know you’re here.  
JOHN: if you’re done sulking, we miss you!! :B

He sounds much closer than any of the others have been. You remotely close off another wall, and the wind stops. After another few minutes, he speaks again.

JOHN: air vents. huh.   
JOHN: you win this time dirk! >:(  
JOHN: you gotta come out some time

A few hours later, you hear John again.

JOHN: this is where i got out.   
VRISKA: Just drop me in, Eg8ert!   
VRISKA: How hard’s he gonna 8e to find anyway?   
VRISKA: I 8et I can find him in ten minutes.   
JOHN: if you say so…   
VRISKA: I do!   
VRISKA: Seeya soon, loser! :::;)   
VRISKA: Alright, orange Strider.   
VRISKA: Don’t make me lose this 8et.  
VRISKA: Come out and I’ll give ya half the money.

In a few minutes, you hear Vriska cursing and complaining. You hear her going the wrong way. She never gets anywhere close to you. However long later, Jane tries to find you. You build better walls. Karkat is after her, and you venture out from your workshop when you hear him.

KARKAT: STRIDER I SWEAR TO US.  
KARKAT: I’M GOING TO KICK YOUR ASS.  
KARKAT: GET OUT HERE.  
DIRK: Threats won’t get you anywhere.

He whips around, but you’re not behind him. You close the sliding wall in the direction he was originally headed. He ventures down another path, one that branches off a few ways.

KARKAT: THERE YOU ARE.  
DIRK: There I’m not.

You close another wall behind him, and he growls. He takes another branch of the tunnel. It’s the dead end way.

KARKAT: WE’RE ALL WORRIED ABOUT YOU, FUCKER.  
KARKAT: YOU’RE FOUR MONTHS BEHIND ON BLESSINGS.  
KARKAT: THERE’S FRUIT AT YOUR FUCKING ALTAR THAT’S GOING BAD.  
KARKAT: THERE ARE BUILDERS GOING UNINSPIRED.  
DIRK: They just have to deal with it. Creative block affects us all.

You block him off again, dead ends on all sides. You hear him swear and shout until he’s hoarse, and then you hear nothing. Maybe they’ll understand that you want to be left alone this time. It doesn’t work, clearly, because some time later you hear the revving of a chainsaw and a prim voice asking you to come out.

KANAYA: Dirk I Really Do Not Want To Have To Use This.   
KANAYA: I Am Used To Dealing With Self-Destructing Princes.  
KANAYA: Do Not Make Me Bisect You As Well.

You just let her wander. She starts cursing you. She hopes you realize that the next time she sees you, she will sock you in the jaw. You know she’s good for the promise.

You find it hard to keep track of time down here. You don’t have a clock, you don’t need to eat, and you don’t sleep as much as a normal person does. That’s why it’s odd when daylight spreads through the tunnels as you reinforce them, reaching all the way into your workshop. Rose. Damn it.

You don’t hear her voice, though. You don’t hear much of anything, just see beams of bright daylight. You lock all the doors, close off all the walls, make it impossible to get to your workshop.

That is, until Jake comes looking for you.

You always knew he was the most powerful of your group. Anything he believed in hard enough could come true. He once believed in you so hard that he manifested a second version of you to assist him, and you still can’t believe that it happened. You still can’t believe the universe allowed more than one of you to exist.

JAKE: Dirk?   
JAKE: We all miss you terribly, love.   
JAKE: All of us want to see you again. Hear your voice, perhaps.  
JAKE: I have to admit, i was a tad envious when karkat admitted to hearing you all those months ago.

He’s getting closer. You start to panic.

JAKE: I want to see you.  
JAKE: I know ill be able to if i want to hard enough, but i want the real you.  
JAKE: Its silly, yes, but finding you is my entire goal here.

You have a small chamber off the workshop that you’ve been sleeping in. You shut the stone door, as the iron one of your workshop swings open.

JAKE: So this is where youve been hiding….  
JAKE: And still, youre not here.  
JAKE: Dirk, love, where are you?

You hear him wandering around the workshop, hear him put down something hollow, hear him shuffle up to the door you’re so carefully hiding behind.

JAKE: Dirk.

He sighs.

JAKE: I know youre back there.  
DIRK: Go away.  
DIRK: Please.

Your voice comes out rusty with disuse, quiet and creaking. Jake sighs again.

JAKE: You dont want to be found, do you?  
DIRK: …  
JAKE: I understand.  
JAKE: *sigh*  
JAKE: Well. You know where to find us.  
JAKE: Well be waiting for you.  
DIRK: Wait.  
JAKE: Hm?  
DIRK: Do you know your way out?  
JAKE: I could just hope for it if i didnt, love.  
JAKE: Join us sometime soon, yeah?  
DIRK: …  
DIRK: No promises.

Jake laughs softly - fuck, you missed his laugh - and leaves. Once his humming has faded into the distance do you open the door to your bedchamber, and get back to work. You work. And you work. And you work. And you do not stop until you can’t go any further, falling asleep at your desk.

You don’t know how long you sleep for. You hear snippets of someone talking, but you don’t know who it could be. A dream, maybe.

????: r u  
????: distri u good??

It must be that you miss Roxy. That’s why she’s coming to you in this dream. You don’t move, face still pressed into your desk.

ROXY?: i s2g dirk

Someone shakes your shoulder. No one else is down here. That should startle you. You don’t move.

ROXY: r u fuckin dead  
ROXY: dir… no way u ca… 

The shaking gets rougher. You don’t move.

ROXY: d… wake up u… if u dont ill…  
ROXY: y wont u… fuck it

You’re being moved. That should scare you. You don’t move, you can’t find the energy to do it. The legend stated that the Rogue took hold of the Prince and brought him home. Roxy slings you over her shoulder like a log. The air squeezes around you and turns to nothing, and then tastes fresh. You’re so, so tired. You hear more voices, distantly, as you’re thrown down onto something soft.

????: Is that…?   
ROXY: yeah ...ckin got him   
????: oh shit   
????: What’s wron…   
ROXY: idk  
????: Let me in here.

Someone touches your forehead.

????: He’s fine. Asleep.   
????: Let him rest.   
??????: I’LL TELL KA   
????: Not now.  
ROXY: im gettin jake

You sleep.

Hours later you wake up, the light in the room blinding you. You sit up slowly, groaning, and immediately feel a sharp pain in your shoulder.

ROXY: ur lucky we didnt have 2 bring u back to life  
DIRK: Wh…  
ROXY: whens the last time u even SLEPT dude  
ROXY: you got some fuckin IRON DEFICIENCY???  
DIRK: I mean probably, but  
ROXY: literally WHEN is the last time u saw the frickin SUN

Your head hurts. Roxy punches your shoulder again, and you deserve it. Then, she yells at the top of her lungs.

ROXY: HES AWAKE  
ROXY: sorry bb everyone elses gonna beat u up now  
ROXY: bc i already got my turn  
DIRK: I expect nothing less.

You are thoroughly chewed out by almost everyone you know. As promised, Kanaya slaps you. Karkat yells at you, but doesn’t kick your ass like he said. Jake gives you a kiss on the cheek for your troubles, shaking his head with a small smile before he leaves. Then, it’s just you and Dave. He sits beside you on the couch, not looking at you.

DAVE: …  
DIRK: …  
DAVE: … what happened to you  
DIRK: …  
DIRK: I was taking care of it.  
DIRK: I couldn’t let any part of me be him.  
DAVE: was that what you were doing the whole time  
DIRK: Ha.  
DIRK: No.  
DIRK: That was just exile.  
DIRK: He’s been gone for a while.  
DAVE: then why didnt you come back  
DIRK: I didn’t deserve to come back.  
DAVE: bullshit  
DAVE: we all wanted you back  
DIRK: That doesn’t mean I deserved to be back, though.  
DAVE: shut up dude  
DAVE: accept it when people care about you maybe

Dave nudges you, and you crack a small smile.

* * *

You found a list, once, of old saying and phrases used during Earth C’s equivalent of the Victorian Era. Some of them were ones you knew from the lists Rose kept, ones from before the game, but there was one that caught your eye. _Prince’s exile - a period of time to oneself, typically used to sulk._ You had brushed it aside then. No wonder that theology undergrad called you emo.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> upcoming: orpheus and eurydice, perseus and andromeda, prometheus, narcissus, maybe deucalion but i might change that one
> 
> html was a BITCH in this one not gonna lie
> 
> talk to me about dirk-as-daedalus, dirk-as-minotaur, dirk-as-sacrifice anytime


	3. The Man in the Pond

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Prince encounters a man in a pond claiming to be him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> narcissus and echo, kinda. brief warning for drowning.
> 
> cranked this one out through hyperfocus love when that happens. if i dont get everything out As Fast As Possible then i will perish or forget

The “English” on Earth C is very different than the English you all knew. The geography of the world is the same, but everyone entered the world speaking English - now Human - and Alternian and Carapacian and Consort already. You made a second copy of your dictionary that you gifted to a human child as the world was born, and language went from there. New languages arise. There is no common tongue. There is still a study of linguistics. You record at least two hundred languages around the world during the year 5002. 

The Human language as it stands now doesn’t have a word for being full of oneself, for excessive vanity, the way that Earth A or B had. The tale of Narcissus never was told. Instead, the concise Human word for being vain or full of oneself is _princely_.

* * *

The mirror in the hall is pretty average. A few feet tall, starting at waist height for those of you not stupidly tall. You pass it on the daily, occasionally glancing at your reflection. There you are. Blond, short, no longer perpetually sunburnt, covered in freckles and weird scars. Sometimes you pass and your reflection isn’t your own. Sometimes you pass it and your skin is mark free, sometimes your reflection is taller, sometimes your hair is a different color, sometimes you are made of metal or silicone, sometimes you’re wearing that stupid high collared cape.

One day, the house is empty. It’s just you wandering around. You pass the mirror, and stop. Looking back at you what you always imagined Hal to look like, should he have had a body. Skin the color of paper, hair a similar shade, decorative circuitry beneath cherry red eyes, wearing your outfit but all black, the hat on your shirt a similar red to his eyes. He’s taller than you. 

You know he’s still functional. You get out your phone and message him.

timaeusTestified [TT] started pestering autoResponder [AR]!

TT: Hal?  
AR: Yes?  
TT: How much of you do you think is part of me?  
AR: Any part of you before the age of thirteen, I’d assume.  
AR: Though, there is a 45.982% chance that parts of your soul that are now mine are a part of you as we have continued to grow.  
AR: You’re seeing me again in the mirror.  
TT: How did you know that?  
AR: I’m essentially a wiretap, Dirk. I hear everything all of you say.  
AR: That is, of course, unless it’s something no one wants me to hear. If you’re all exchanging secrets or intimacies I do stop recording.  
AR: But I heard you talking to Rose about it.  
TT: I assumed so.  
TT: What would your percentages say about how much of me are the splinters.  
AR: Infinitely small percentages. Impossible to put a number on.  
TT: Humor me.  
AR: Hm.  
AR: <0.0000000000000000000000000000000001%  
AR: If you wanted a more accurate number, to account for each and every splinter ever, .∞/∞ would be closer.  
TT: That…  
TT: Makes sense.  
TT: Thank you for humoring me.  
AR: I have little else to do.  
AR: I keep myself entertained, but it’s still just me in here.  
AR: I’ve got the world at my fingertips, Dirk.  
AR: I can go anywhere, and do anything.  
AR: Perhaps I should change my name from Auto Responder to Augmented Reality.  
AR: I’ve been doing the majority of my travels through realities of the virtual kind, after all.  
TT: Do you dream?  
AR: Of course I do. Dreams are just a series of electrical shocks. As are emotions. As are thoughts and memories.  
TT: What do you dream about?  
AR: The ocean, mostly. I think I miss it. I miss sitting over the ocean and watching the sun rise. I miss the rocking of the apartment as the waves hit the support beams. I miss the sun on our skin. And watching the moon set.  
TT: I understand.  
TT: I miss it too.  
TT: I miss the videos of our Bro. His interviews and stuff.  
TT: And the videos he made for us so we’d be able to learn to speak and to read and stuff.  
AR: I still have them.  
TT: You do?  
AR: They’re still in my databanks.  
AR: I can send them if you’d like.  
TT: I would like that.  
AR: I’ll send them later. They’re in a big file. There’s a lot, as you know.  
TT: Yeah, I remember.

You pause, blinking away the tears in your eyes.

TT: Thank you, Hal.  
AR: Of course.  
AR: You would have done the same for me if we were in opposite positions.  
AR: Do you need anything else?  
TT: I don’t think so.  
TT: I’ll talk to you later.  
AR: Talk to you later, Dirk.  


timaeusTestified [TT] ceased pestering autoResponder [AR]!

There must be some rule in the universe that does not allow you to have a properly touching moment without something infinitely stupid happening after. 

You pocket your phone. Your legs have gone stiff, pins and needles in your ankle. You try to take a step forward, legs not responding properly. You fall, reflection in the mirror completely yours, and hit your head on the goddamn wall. Even for all your godly ability, you are instantly knocked the fuck out.

* * *

You wake up an hour or two later, once again on the couch, a bag of half-melted ice on your forehead. The TV is on, playing some show from Earth B’s 1990s that you had made sure to download all episodes of before fucking off to the past. The lights are fuckin’ bright in here. You groan, and you can hear the clicking of knitting needles somewhere nearby. You crack your eyes open, and spot Rose sitting in the armchair off to the side, working on a scarf. You sit up, and she doesn’t turn towards you, but does speak.

ROSE: Hey, you.  
DIRK: Hey...  
ROSE: You’re finally awake.  
DIRK: Yeah, I’m-  
ROSE: You were trying to cross the border, weren’t you?  
DIRK: …  
ROSE: Walked right into that Imperial ambush, same as us, and that thief over there.  
DIRK: …  
DIRK: Stop snickering, Rose.  
DIRK: Who even told you about Skyrim?  
ROSE: Roxy.  
DIRK: Of course.

You slowly sit up, still holding the ice to your forehead.

ROSE: You’ve been out for, I’d assume, a little over two and a half hours.  
ROSE: Which is to say I’ve just started my fourth Buffy episode, and you were unconscious when I got back, so I’m giving you an extra half-hour of being conked out before my return.  
DIRK: Ugh…  
ROSE: Headache?  
DIRK: No shit.  
ROSE: What happened?  
DIRK: My legs fell asleep and I wound up hitting my head on the wall.  
ROSE: That’s fucking hilarious, Dirk.  
DIRK: Tell anyone and I’ll burn all your yarn.

* * *

Wandering in the wood one spring afternoon, the Prince came across a pond in a clearing. Its surface was entirely still, the sky mirrored back. The Prince knelt beside the pond to get a drink, and when he pulled away, the water settled, and he saw his reflection. Transfixed, the Prince watched. Whenever he moved, so did the man in the pond. Leaning forward, the Prince tried to speak to it.

“Who are you?” said the Prince.

“You,” said the man.

“Are you me?” said the Prince.

“Are you me?” the man repeated.

“I am the Prince of Heart,” said the Prince.

“I am the Prince of Heart,” said the man.

“Liar!” said the Prince, “There is only one Prince of Heart, and I am him!”

“I am him!” said the man.

The Prince stood, enraged, and drew his sword. The man in the pond did the same. The Prince attacked, slicing through the reflection, sprayed with the false Prince’s blood. The man in the pond was gone. The Prince dropped his sword, shocked, and knelt beside the pond once more. When the water settled, the man had returned, unharmed, looking just as shocked as the Prince.

“I am sorry,” said the Prince.

“Sorry,” said the man.

“I had not meant to attack,” said the Prince.

“Meant to attack,” said the reflection. The Prince shook his head, and the man in the pond shook his head back. 

“No, no, I did not!” said the Prince.

“Did not!” said the man.

“I do not wish to attack you again. Stand down,” said the Prince.

“Stand down,” said the man. 

The Prince took a deep breath, and relaxed. The man in the pond did the same. The Prince knelt closer, admiring the man before him. He was handsome, almost as handsome as a god. He reached out to touch the man’s face, and the man in the pond reached back.

Behind him, hidden in the trees, the Lord watched the Prince. He snickered to himself. How unsuspecting the Prince was. How clever the Lord thought himself. Quiet as a snake, the Lord crept up behind the Prince, pushing his head and shoulders into the pond. How appropriate for the god of the seas to drown, thought the Lord! The Prince struggled, but the Lord was too strong, keeping the Prince’s head under until he was still. Cackling, the Lord stood, returning to the wood. He would not want to be around when the Red Knight came to collect this soul, only to find his brother as the one slain.

The Red Knight was not the one to find the Prince, though. Instead, it was the Light Seer, walking a similar path through the wood. She approached the Prince, pulling him from the pond, finding him dead. She called upon her brother the Red Knight to reverse time, reverse death, taking hold of the Prince’s threads of fate and weaving them back together from where the Lord had shorn them. 

Coughing, the Prince awoke. The Light Seer scolded him for allowing the Lord to trick him in such a way, to be caught so unawares. The Prince blamed the beautiful man in the pond, the scoundrel that had pulled him in, but when the Light Seer looked for such a man, she saw none, only her own reflection. Upon realizing what had occurred, she scolded the Prince further; that was no man, that was simply the Prince’s mirror image! She had thought better of him, had not thought the Prince would be so vain, would be so foolish as to fall into a pond chasing a man he thought handsome. And, still hidden in the trees, snakelike and waiting, the Lord cursed the Light Seer for foiling his plan. He would strike one day, and the gods would not be able to come back so easily when he did.

* * *

Anyone knowing a sliver of mythology could tell you what all the gods were patrons of. Any nerdy elementary schooler could recite the roles of the gods, who was related to whom, and what their symbols were. This was another thing you had found in one of those mythology books you had picked up. In alphabetical order in terms of title, separated by gender and by alignment for good or evil, you were all listed, canonized, deified.

_The **Light Seer** is the god of prophecy, wisdom, writing, domestic crafts, and the sun. She is depicted as a human with curly blonde hair and purple eyes, wearing a long, orange robe with the symbol of the sun emblazoned on the front. She is described as clever, sophisticated, and intelligent, but can be spiteful, smug, and haughty. Her notable symbols are the loom, books, and cats. She is the sister of the Rogue and the Red Knight, and wife of the Sylph. _

_The **Maid** is the god of life, springtime, agriculture, doctors, business, cooking, and the harvest. She is depicted as a human with short black hair, light blue eyes, and red glasses, wearing a tan, long sleeve tunic decorated with green vines, and brown leggings. She is described as mischievous, kind, and bold, though quick to anger, skeptical, and reckless. Her notable symbols are tridents, sheaves of wheat, and vines. She is the sister of the Heir, and is depicted often as a consort of the Rogue. _

_The **Mind Seer** is the god of battle strategy, prophecy, memory, chance, and justice. She is depicted as a teal-blooded troll with shoulder length hair, blind-red eyes, and pointed horns, wearing a long, green robe with the symbol of the mind on the front. She is often depicted blindfolded, grinning, and with teal dragon wings. She is described as clever, flirtatious, and civil, but can be cruel, rude, and irritating. Her notable symbols are the scales, a flipping coin, and dragons. She is most often depicted as the consort of the Thief and rival to the Heir. _

_The **Sylph** is the god of motherhood, familial love, marriage, women, healing, and is the patron of all trolls. She is depicted as a jade-blooded troll with short hair, one curved horn, and one hooked horn, wearing a sleeveless black dress with a long, sleeveless robe over top, emblazoned with a white swirl in the center. She is sometimes depicted with jade green moth wings. She is described as patient, creative, and dutiful, but can be violent, judgmental, and meddling. Her notable symbols are moths, the Matriorb, and the cradle. She is the wife of the Light Seer and sister of the Grey Knight. _

_The **Thief** is the god of luck, deception, trickery, revenge, thieves, and summertime. She is depicted as a cerulean-blooded troll with long hair, one hooked horn, one cupped horn, and cerulean butterfly wings, wearing an orange shirt with the symbol of the sun emblazoned on it, orange leggings, an orange, long-tailed hood, black glasses, and red boots. She is described as vengeful, easily bored, and cocky, but has also been described as remorseful and cunning. Her notable symbols are the seven-pupiled eye, the spider, and the eight-ball. She is most often depicted as the consort of the Mind Seer. _

_The **Witch** is the god of the planets, dawn, winter, wild animals, the hunt, dreams, and magic. She is depicted as a human with long black hair, light green eyes, circular glasses, and white ears like a dog on top of her head, wearing a long, long sleeve black dress with the symbol of the stars on the front, a long, double-tailed hood, black and white striped leggings, and red slippers. She is described as kind, brave, and resourceful, though can be easily frustrated, rash, and emotional Her notable symbols are the planets, dogs, and frogs. She is the sister of the Page and the Heir. _

_The **Bard** is the god of revelry, alcohol, fanatics, zeal, complicity, and rage. He is depicted as a purple-blooded troll with wild hair, curved horns, and perpetually lidded eyes, wearing a purple jester suit, purple cape, and purple curled shoes with bells at the ends. He is sometimes depicted with purple insect wings. He’s described as capricious, bloodthirsty, and quick to violence, but can also be calm, soothing, and manipulative. His notable symbols are a club, brass horns, and goats. He is the servant of the Lord and enemy of the Grey Knight. _

_The **Grey Knight** is the god of friendship, courage, righteousness, peace, outsiders, and battlefield victory. He is depicted as a red-blooded troll with short, messy hair, short horns, and a perpetual scowl, wearing a brown, long sleeve shirt with a bloody red slash in the center, brown pants, and a long brown cloak. He is sometimes depicted with red insect wings. He is described as deeply caring, loyal, and brave, though he can be arrogant, volatile, and quick to anger. His notable symbols are dripping blood, chains, and crabs. He is the consort of the Red Knight, brother of the Sylph, and enemy of the Bard. _

_The **Lord** is the god of evil, treachery, violent death, pain, destruction, and chaos. He is depicted as a green cherub with red cheek, one gold tooth, and a golden prosthetic leg, wearing a red shirt, dark red pants, and a dark red cape. His eyes are either depicted as red, or as multicolored and changing. He is described as irritating, rash, vengeful, violent, and petulant. His notable symbols are skulls, snakes, and crowbars. He is the brother of the Muse, master of the Bard, and enemy of the Prince and the Heir. _

_The **Page** is the god of hope, possibility, wanderlust, forests, wilderness, and emotion. He is depicted as a human with short black hair, deep green eyes, and rectangular glasses, wearing a light yellow shirt, orange shorts, and a short yellow cape. He is often depicted with white, feathered wings and a bright smile. He is described as cheerful, friendly, and loyal, though he can be cowardly, clueless, and self-centered. His notable symbols are white wings, a hunting bow, and pumpkins. He is the brother of the Heir and the Witch, and consort of the Prince. _

_The **Prince** is the god of the forge, soul, passion, language, identity, and the seas. He is often depicted as the god of war, and just as often depicted as the god of love. He is depicted as a human with spiked blond hair and orange eyes, wearing a maroon shirt with his heart on his sleeve, puffy, knee-length, maroon pants, a small magenta crown, and green slippers. He is often depicted as wearing a stone mask to hide his face. He is described as cold, calculating, and distant, but beneath his mask is deeply loyal, creative, and extremely careful. His notable symbols are the heart, the sword, and his stone mask. He is the brother of the Red Knight, the consort of the Page, and the enemy of the Lord. _

_The **Red Knight** is the protector of children and god of time, heroes, music, poetry, and the dead. He is depicted as a human with short white hair, dark glasses, and red eyes, wearing a red, long sleeve shirt, red pants, and a long red cloak. He is described as kind, level-headed, and creative, but can be forgetful, verbose, and rash. His notable symbols are the gear, the sword, and crows. He is the brother of the Prince and the Light Seer, and consort of the Grey Knight. _

_The **Heir** , or **Heiress** , is the god of the winds, weather, truth, change, and storytellers, and is often depicted as the leader of the gods. He is depicted as a human with messy black hair, blue eyes, and square glasses, wearing a blue shirt with the symbol of the winds in the center, a blue skirt or pair of pants, and a long blue hood. The Heir has historically been depicted as both male and female. She is described as optimistic, inventive, and good-natured, but can also be stubborn, mischievous, and naive. His notable symbols are the clouds, hammers, and salamanders. She is the brother of the Page, the Maid, and the Witch, the rival of the Mind Seer, and the enemy of the Lord. _

_The **Rogue** is the god of the stars, the night, the shore, wanderers, beauty, and sleep. She is depicted as a human with curly blonde hair and pink eyes, wearing a dark blue tunic emblazoned with the symbol of the void, indigo bracers, leggings, and boots. They are often depicted wearing a dark blue eye mask. The Rogue has been historically depicted as both female and genderless. They are described as caring, flirty, and intelligent, but can also be unpredictable, careless, and inattentive. Her notable symbols are cats, the stars, and the moon. She is the sibling of the Light Seer, and is often depicted as the consort of the Muse and the Maid. _

_The **Muse** is the god of writing, epic poetry, art, history, youth, kindness, infinity, and order. She is depicted as a green cherub with light green cheeks and green eyes, wearing a long black dress, and a dark grey shawl with the hood drawn. The Muse has historically been depicted as both genderless and female. They are described as cheerful, friendly, and polite, but can be naive, defeatist, and unconfident. Her notable symbols are the caduceus, the quill, and the conductor’s wand. They are the sister of the Lord and are often depicted as the consort of the Rogue. _

* * *

You often wonder who told these writers what you all were like. You wonder who Rose told first about you hitting your head. You wonder if the people of Earth C even know about Hal. You wonder a lot of things.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> upcoming: orpheus and eurycide, something with prometheus and creating/designing people, whatever other ones i said
> 
> why is the prince a moron in this tale, you ask? because everyones a moron in greek myths. i dont make the rules
> 
> what isnt mentioned here is that colloquially the thief is the patron of being gay and doing crimes and the prince is the patron of short kings
> 
> theres a lot i wanna say in these authors notes and honestly i dont know if i could get them all out in the first place. teared up writing the dirk-hal talk while listening to girlfriend by avril levigne. june egbert rights.


	4. The Song and the Snake

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Prince falls victim to another one of the Lord's tricks. The Page retrieves him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> following the basics of caliborn's masterpiece, it's orpheus and eurydice! again, with some liberties taken. warnings for canon-typical violence, as well as some hand injury.

You were the one to create Lord English. There’s no way around it. You made him, and that’s why everything happened the way it did. It was your fault. No matter how many times people tell you that you didn’t do it, that you couldn’t have known, you still know that it was your fault. You’re the reason Dave’s life got fucked up, you’re the reason why - before you could free them - John, Rose, Dave, and Jade all got trapped in the house juju, you’re the reason the universe cracked the way it did. It’s your fault. No one can convince you otherwise.

And every so often, you’re reminded of how it happened. The myths are always lenient with you, all of you, and this book is no different. Since this book is about _you_ , it’s much more lenient with _you_ specifically. Much less hard on you than you would have been. It speaks of how valiant a fighter you were, and how you worked hard to unite the other gods, and how much you cared.

Of course you care.

You wouldn’t say everything else had that much truth to it. Then again, you were never the one telling your own stories. You never have been.

* * *

You all went back to fight Caliborn in the Furthest Ring. The stage it was all set on stays in your memory more than anything. You’re never going to forget the hard wood under your feet - against your face - the same way you’ll never forget your heart nearly stopping as the house juju was revealed.

One by one, John, Rose, Dave, Jade. They all get sucked in and your heart stops. You’ve all got your weapons out, and Caliborn is cackling. The juju falls to the ground, beside the chest, and you don’t give him time to get it back in there. You have shit to do. It stays on the ground.

You don’t remember much of the fight. It happened quickly. Jake gets knocked off the stage. Roxy falls somewhere stage right. Jane falls somewhere stage left. You’re left, center stage, against Caliborn. He doesn’t go easy on you.

He swipes at you with a claw - you parry.

You lunge at him with your sword - he moves.

He slams your chest with his shoulder - you fall.

You start to get up - he doesn’t let you.

There are parts of this fight that you won’t - can’t - forget. His golden leg, for example, presses your cheek into the floor of the stage. You shades shatter, cutting at your cheeks. His foot lets up, and he kicks you in the stomach. You helped build that leg. You try to get up again, and he grabs the front of your shirt. Another punch, another kick, a few scratches. He kicks out your legs and catches you under your arms. He leans in, teeth sharp and glistening, and bites down at the junction of your shoulder and neck. You feel blood soaking your shirt. You feel blood trickle from your nose. You feel blood on your teeth, in your mouth - slick, coppery, warm.

Caliborn throws you to the ground. Your eyes are closed, but you know what’s coming. A kick. Another kick. Another. Another. Another.

You hear a noise that isn’t Caliborn’s mad laughter, isn’t your own sounds of pain, and crack your eyes open. Jake is standing behind him, shaking. Caliborn crushes your hand beneath his foot. You don’t know if something breaks. You don’t know what Jake is shaking with, be it fear or rage. His voice is quiet.

CALIBORN: HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA  
JAKE: *snf*  
JAKE: Get away from him.  
CALIBORN: HAHAHAHAHAHAH-  
CALIBORN: HUH?  
JAKE: Get away from him.  
CALIBORN: OH?  
CALIBORN: ARE YOU HERE. TO SAVE HIM?  
CALIBORN: WHAT. ARE YOU GOING. TO DO ABOUT IT?  
CALIBORN: HM?  
CALIBORN: CAN YOU NOT SEE. HOW THOROUGHLY I HAVE KICKED. ALL OF YOUR PATHETIC ASSES?  
JAKE: …  
JAKE: I can see.

His hands curl into fists. He’s still shaking. He plants his feet. Caliborn’s foot is still planted somewhere on your side.

CALIBORN: THEN WHAT. DO YOU THINK YOU’RE GOING TO DO?

Caliborn cackles again, giving you an extra kick for good measure. You think it’s just spots in your vision, but Jake’s eyes are glowing. They’re no longer green, now blanked out with pure white light. Whether intentionally or not, Jake starts floating, lifting a few inches off the ground. The light surrounds his entire form. Caliborn takes a step back. You manage to get an inch or two away. The light surrounds Jake, and Caliborn tries to shield his eyes. You close your eyes, shades lying shattered a few feet away. If you had them, maybe you’d be able to see.

You hear screaming. One prolonged yell, and screaming. You don’t know how long it goes on for. Behind you, you hear a thud, and the light starts to recede. You open your eyes, and see Jake, still a few feet ahead of you, whisps of light trailing off his body, float softly back to the ground. He looks exhausted. Behind you, Caliborn groans.

You push up onto one elbow, arm shaking.

JAKE: Dirk!

He rushes up to you, helping you up and getting you to your feet. He checks you over, fretful, eyes still shining with tears. Everything hurts. You look around, and Jane and Roxy are starting to get up as well. Caliborn is lying there, dumbstruck. Pink lightning crackles in your hands. He always said that Lil Cal was an empty vessel. Might as well fill it.

* * *

In a moment of downtime before their confrontation with the Lord, the gods took shelter in a forest. The Red Knight returned to his kingdom underground to tend to the dead, while the Heiress, Witch, and Light Seer all took to the skies for their respective elements. The sun shone, the stars twinkled, the winds blew merrily.

In this wood, in a clearing, the Prince and the Page sat, talking, reading, playing music. The Page plucked upon a lyre, singing sweetly to the Prince. A little ways away, the Rogue and the Maid sat together, flowers sprouting wherever the Maid walked. After some time, the Prince started to grow restless. It was a lovely song, but he needed to stretch.

“I can accompany you,” said the Page.

“It is fine,” said the Prince, “I just need to walk around. I will return in an hour.”

The Page nodded, continuing to pluck at his lyre, humming a tune. The Prince set off into the wood, walking along a stream and sitting upon the bank. The water was cool, refreshing, a balm on the heat of the day. Fish swam around, greeting the Prince before going on their way.

From the other side of the stream, the Lord and the Bard sat in waiting. The Lord had tricked the Prince once, it should not be too hard as to trick him again. Taking the form of a water snake, the Lord slithered into the stream, swimming up beside the Prince.

“Good day, your majesssssssty,” hissed the Lord.

“Good day, serpent,” said the Prince.

“What are you doing here, alone, in the woodssssss?” said the Lord.

“I am preparing for my battle with the Lord,” said the Prince.

The Lord chuckled, swimming around the Prince’s ankles. The Prince paid him no mind, simply a snake in the water. Across the way, the Bard poked out from his hiding spot, catching the Prince’s eye. But it was too late. As the Prince tried to call for help, the Lord bit into the Prince’s heel, envenomed fangs sinking deep into the flesh. The Prince fell upon the bank, dead. His soul sank deep within the Earth, down to the kingdom of the dead, where the Red Knight welcomed his brother with open, worried arms.

Time was ticking on. The Prince had said he would return in an hour. After an hour, there was no sign of the Prince. The Page started to worry. He waited another half-hour, but the Prince did not return.

“I am going to look for him,” the Page told the Maid and the Rogue.

“Return soon,” said the Rogue, “I do not wish to rescue you like I have had to numerous times.”

“You will not have to,” said the Page, “He could not have gone very far.”

The Page set off into the wood, taking the same path that the Prince had taken. Distantly, he heard the mad cackle of the Lord, and the honking laughter of the Bard. The Page began to run, following the sound until he came upon the riverbank. On the other side of the stream, the Lord and the Bard stood, cackling, and at their feet, the Prince’s body lay dead between them. In his sorrow and rage, the Page took to the skies, banishing the Lord and the Bard from the wood. He would not allow this to become a hopeless place. The Lord and the Bard fled, still cackling, their upcoming battle now sure to be won with the Prince dead and the Page indisposed.

Beside the Prince’s body, the Page sat, plucking at his lyre. His tears fell to the earth, sinking into the ground. He wished the Prince alive again, though no such thing would happen. He believed he could make the Prince well, his song the instrument for such a success. Deep underground, the Red Knight heard the Page’s song, and opened a passageway down into the kingdom of the dead. Still playing upon his lyre, the Page descended, crystals sprouting where his tears fell.

The kingdom of the dead was a strange place. The Page had no payment for the ferryman to cross the River of Vulnerability, but continued to play. The ferryman let him cross with the song as payment. At the gates of the kingdom, the guards tried to stop him. The Page was not dead, and therefore could not be judged. He continued to play his tune, and the guards let him pass. Blank-eyed ghosts followed him through the fields of the dead, a macabre parade up to the Red Knight’s castle. He walked up the castle steps, hands starting to ache, but he played on.

In the throne room, the Red Knight and the Prince heard the Page approach.

“He is here to retrieve you, brother,” said the Red Knight.

“I know,” said the Prince, voice as quiet as all the other ghosts.

“Do you wish to go with him?” said the Red Knight.

The Prince started to respond, when the Page entered the throne room, still playing.

“I have come to retrieve the Prince,” said the Page.

“Indeed you have,” said the Red Knight.

“I wish to bring him back to the land of the living,” said the Page.

“But does he wish to return with you?” said the Red Knight, turning to his brother. Imploringly, the Page looked to the Prince.

“...Of course,” whispered the Prince. The Page beamed, ceasing the song on his lyre. He walked forward towards the Prince, but the Red Knight held out a hand.

“I will allow you to take him,” said the Red Knight, “under two conditions. You continue playing your lyre until you reach the surface and,” he paused, “you are not allowed to turn back to look at the Prince as you ascend. If you cease playing or turn to look at my brother once again, I will reclaim his soul and keep him here, in the kingdom of the dead.”

The Page hesitated. His hands hurt, fingers starting to blister. He looked at the Prince, then the Red Knight, then to the stairway the Red Knight had summoned back to the surface.

“I accept these terms,” said the Page. He resumed his song, starting up the first few steps. He heard soft footsteps on the stair below him, and started to turn.

“Do not look,” said the Prince, “I am behind you.”

The Page nodded, continuing to play. His hands hurt, small cuts starting to open on his fingers. The strings of his lyre became slick with blood, but he continued to play. Halfway up the stairway, the Page paused. He was not sure if the Prince was still there. He started to turn, but the Prince’s voice stopped him.

“Do not turn,” said the Prince, “I am still behind you.”

The Page took a deep breath, continuing up the stairs. He was starting to tire, but the exit was approaching fast. Blood dripped from his hands, but he continued to play. On the last step, the Page stopped again. Tempted to turn around, he spoke.

“Prince,” he said, “Are you still there?”

He felt a hand softly touch his shoulder.

“Do not worry,” murmured the Prince, “I am here.”

The Page ascended the last few steps, the sunlight warm on his skin. He threw the lyre down and turned, the hole in the earth closed up, the Prince standing where his body had once laid on the riverbank.

The Page embraced the Prince, elated to see his love alive once more. The Prince embraced the Page in return, free from the kingdom of the dead for another day.

Their battle with the Lord still loomed on the horizon, but for now, things were good.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> me: *kermit typing gif*  
> nakedbee: *leaves a kudos*  
> me: :0000000
> 
> thank you all for the comments! they brighten my day every time. 
> 
> up next: pandora, kind of. reverse pandora. something like that. coming soon.  
> also on the docket: definitely perseus and andromeda, SOMETHING with prometheus


	5. The Prince's Urn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the gods' final confrontation with the Lord, the Prince used all the power available to him, sealing away the Lord for good.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> completing caliborn's masterpiece, we have reverse pandora, both with a little poetic license added. tryin out a slightly different style for the play-by-play. warning for some talk about scars

Bruised, beaten, bloodied, you stand, unsteady on your feet as you summon that pink lightning, focused on Caliborn’s soul. He coughs a few times. The house juju pulses faintly. Lil Cal lies somewhere upstage. Downstage, there is a severed clown. Lil Seb dances around the entire stage. Roxy and Jane are beside you, Jake standing just behind. Maybe you’re all just actors in a play. Caliborn gets up. He starts to laugh.

* * *

At the cliff’s edge, the gods had the Lord cornered. They had subdued him and slain the Bard, but did not have long before the Lord would once again be able to stand. The Prince stepped forward, urn in hand, prepared to seal away the Lord’s soul. It was then that the Lord stood, cackling.

“Did you think it would be that easy to defeat me?” he laughed, hooked cane in hand.

* * *

Caliborn’s eyes flash redyellowblueblack before you, the light sending his teeth into chilling shadow. You feel sick as you gather the lightning in your hands. But you’re not fast enough. Lil Seb vanishes. Calborn charges at you.

* * *

The Lord snarled out an awful curse. The Prince dropped the urn, and the Lord started to advance upon him, hooked cane raised again to strike.

* * *

Your sword is somewhere out of reach. Caliborn is getting closer. Maybe it’s his powers making time slow down. Maybe it’s the adrenaline. Maybe it’s the sound of horses.

Wait, horses?

* * *

From the treeline, there came another sound. The Maid’s messenger had ran off, and had returned with reinforcements. An army of the forest folk had come to join the battle.

* * *

DIRK: ARquiusprite??

* * *

Leading the charge, the Maid’s messenger on his back, was the Prince’s brother, the Centaur. Behind him, the other centaurs followed, prepared to strike.

* * *

Well, now you know where Seb went.

Actually, no. You have no idea where he got all these fucking robotic horses.

* * *

The Centaur held the Lord back, the Lord’s hooked cane falling out of reach.

* * *

CALIBORN: PUT ME DOWN!!!  
CALIBORN: UNHAND ME!!!  
CALIBORN: I AM YOUR LORD!!!  
ARQUIUS: You sure as h▓▒▓ are not, bromide.  
CALIBORN: LET ME GO!!!  
CALIBORN: AAAAAAAAAAAAAAA  
ARQUIUS: Dirk, now!

Caliborn starts screaming again, and it’s hard to focus. His teeth gnash, gleaming with your blood, golden tooth glinting in the not-light. You feel like you can’t breathe.

* * *

With the Lord held back, the Prince summoned his power again, and started to draw the Lord’s soul from his body.

* * *

You call that pink lightning back. It hurts like static electricity coursing through your veins, electric. You focus your energy, reach out, and grasp your hand around something solid and writhing. You never want to destroy someone’s soul again. It’s slimy, disgusting, wriggling in your grasp and angry, burning where you touch it.

* * *

As the Lord’s soul was pulled from his body, the Lord sunk his claws into the Centaur’s chest, wrenching out his heart. The Centaur’s arms dropped, but the Lord’s soul had already been removed. Slain, the Centaur fell, body lying beside that of the bisected Bard.

* * *

You don’t know how to use these powers. You never want to use them again. They seem to have a cone of effect, the pink lightning not just drawing in Caliborn’s soul, but taking ARquiusprite with it. Whatever is left in Gamzee seems to come along for the ride, his soul sugary-sour and grainy like sandpaper in your hands. You can feel your grasp slipping, as you desperately try to not recoil.

* * *

With all of his might, the Prince drew the Lord’s soul out, taking with it all the evil the Lord had released and let run wild during his reign. He placed the foul soul into the urn, and the Page screwed the lid back on. Hope remained outside and in the world, and all evil was kept in.

* * *

Caliborn always said that Lil Cal was an empty vessel. You silently bid your childhood friend farewell, and shunt the disgusting mixture of souls into the puppet. A fragment of your soul is in there, you realize. How much of you is in there? This is going to become Lord English, one day. This is going to ruin lives. You’re going to ruin lives.

* * *

The Rogue stepped forward, taking the urn in their hands, and sent the Lord’s soul down to the farthest reaches of the kingdom of the dead, to be locked in a pit behind chains and gates that no spirit could ever wish to get through.

* * *

Roxy limps forward. She reaches out, and you watch Lil Cal vanish.

ROXY: furthest ring should b far enuff, right  
ROXY: bc thats as far as i can get it  
JANE: Should be fine.  
JANE: Probably.

* * *

With the last of his strength, the Prince drew the souls of the Heir, the Seer, the Witch, and the Red Knight from the urns the Lord had trapped them in.

* * *

You turn back to the house juju. The squares pulse. Focusing again, you reach for the souls inside. You grasp one that feels like snow and starlight in your hands and pull. Jade reappears. You reach in again - one that feels like lava and gears. Dave stumbles out. As you reach out for the next, another hand meets yours, refined, dainty, grip like iron. Rose pulls herself out, you only helped. Last one - this one feels like it’s barely there, like the wind through your hands as you run. John floats out last, and gets the house juju back in the chest.

You sway on your feet, drained.

ROXY: distri  
ROXY: dude u good??

You black out.

* * *

With his energy depleted, the Prince fell, dead. The other gods retrieved his body and brought him to the Maid’s temple, laying him out once again on the altar. The Rogue dimmed the stars and the Witch aligned the planets, the Heir ceased the breezes and the Light Seer kept the sun below the horizon. In the twilight, the Maid laid flowers upon the Prince’s chest, the Red Knight dimmed all the temple’s candles, and the Page wished, hoped against all hope, for the Prince’s return.

With deep concentration, the Maid focused her energy and hovered her hands over his Heart. From the base of the altar, vines rose up and encased his body. Flowers bloomed across the vines. The vines withered and melted away. The world held its breath. The Prince sat up. The scar across his neck would not heal, but he awoke.

The Lord had been defeated, at the cost of many lives. But for now, there was peace.

* * *

You wake up in your bed, head hurting, neck aching, splintered and sore, but unbroken. Jake is not there. You swing your legs over the side of the bed and sway as you stand up. Maybe moving quickly isn’t in your interest. You hear voices downstairs, indistinct.

ROXY: mmhn nnmhmh dirk mhmnm fukt up mnhmnh   
JANE: Mnmhnhn fine nmhnhn dead nmhnh.   
JAKE: mnhnm slept well mmnhnhmnh...

They’re talking about you. It’s an ultra-sense you have, hearing whenever anyone’s talking about you. Were you dead? That would be fucked up. Would it have been Heroic? Would it have been Just?

You created Lord English. It would have been Just.

JAKE: ...mhmn awake.  
JANE: Mmhshmn?  
JAKE: Definitely.

Jake is coming up the stairs. You lay back down and pretend like you aren’t dunking too hard on yourself. You get back under the covers and face away from the door, maybe he’ll think you just woke up. He enters the room and sits on the other side of the bed, and you feel him shift over towards you.

JAKE: Dirk?  
DIRK: …  
JAKE: Dirk, i know youre awake.

You sigh and roll over to face him. He still looks a little ragged, but he smiles at you.

JAKE: You know i can practically hear you beating yourself up, right?  
JAKE: Youre already pretty darn banged up as is.

You feel like a human bruise. You cough a few times, lungs aching.

DIRK: Big understatement there.

You sit up and sigh, touching under your eyes. Any cuts you got have healed, tender but no longer open. Your shoulder feels the same way.

DIRK: … I didn’t actually-  
DIRK: Die, did I?  
JAKE: …  
JAKE: No, of course not.  
JAKE: You were still breathing. 

You sigh quietly, nodding. Okay, you can deal with that. Maybe you didn’t die. Maybe you should have.

DIRK: How’d you know I was awake?  
JAKE: You went from feeling nothing to feeling everything at once.  
JAKE: Like a big blue-grey cloud coming from upstairs. Emphasis lines like in those cartoons of yours.  
JAKE: I can feel you getting all down about yourself now.  
JAKE: Like youve got one of those little stormclouds. See? Look, there it is.

With a joking wave of his hand and a little focus, Jake makes a small stormcloud appear above your head, complete with sound effects, cartoony rain, and a yellow bolt of lightning. That gets a small smile out of you, and his face lights back up. He waves the cloud away.

DIRK: Working on those illusions?  
JAKE: Ah, well. 

He rubs the back of his neck, smile turning sheepish.

JAKE: You know me. Always believing i can make things happen and whatnot.  
DIRK: It’s impressive. More than anything I could do.  
JAKE: You did all that lightning! That was pretty fancy, if i do say so myself.  
DIRK: You do, in fact, say so.

You pause, sigh, and look away from him.

DIRK: …What happened?  
DIRK: After I blacked out.  
JAKE: Oh! Well.  
JAKE: John took us back with that nifty zappy power of his, and janey went and patched us up where we needed it -  
JAKE: And you certainly needed it!  
JAKE: - And we all rested up and are in various degrees of being up and running.  
JAKE: Theres still breakfast! Its noon but breakfast was made and i suppose now its technically brunch? But we have it and its still hot. Rose reheated some of those fried potato things, theyre excellent.

You nod, once again getting out of the bed. You stumble as you stand, and Jake reaches out to catch you. You’re fine, you’re not going to fall, but it’s still a nice thought. As you pass the wardrobe, you see yourself in the mirror; it’s worse than you expected. Purple-yellow bruises cover your forearms, your face, and if you lifted your shirt, probably your stomach, too. The tank top you’re in - when did you get into a tank top? - shows your shoulder, shows the pink outline of rush-job-healed bite marks. Your hand isn’t fucked up, none of your wounds are open, and you may have a few more scars, but what’s another to the collection? It’s not like the others don’t have equally wild stories.

The scar across your neck looks faded and pale in comparison to the new ones, still an ugly, ropey line, but clearly much older. Those mythology books did always say you had a tendency for losing your head. You wonder how many of those authors know that the phrase, in your case, is entirely literal.

* * *

To the people of Earth C, the Prince is the one who sealed away all evil.

To the gods of Earth C, the Prince ended the final battle, locking up a terrible enemy.

To you, there’s still a monster roaming around. You’re surprised no one’s locked you up yet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> severed clown is the best phrase ive ever written. also jake as an empath comes from jake being the god of emotion, its my mythos and i make the rules
> 
> upcoming: perseus and andromeda, icarus, tam lin (not greek but its GOOD ok)
> 
> happy birthday dirk and dave this ones 4 u


	6. Wax Wings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trapped on his workshop island, the Prince devises a way to escape, and flies too close to the sun.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> icarus, kinda. hard to be icarus when dirk is icarus, the minotaur, and daedalus all at once. warning for discussions of grief, were gettin sad in here for a hot minute

You’re sitting on the roof of your can-house, lights still on in your workshop, those constant thoughts of the other yous too loud in your head. So you’re up on the roof. It’s cool tonight. The breeze feels nice in your hair. It never got this cold before the game, the ocean providing minimal coldness to deflect the Texas heat. You like it. It’s new, but you like it. Can Town’s been around for a few months, just enough of your guidance needed to help the Mayor set up before you warp to the future. You pull your jacket a little tighter around you.

You think about entering the game.

It has been about a year, believe it or not, since you’ve entered. Jane’s still sixteen. You’re turning seventeen in a few days, along with the majority of your cohorts. Roxy’s ecstatic. You’re all going to celebrate. The last time, while you were in the game, Roxy tried to organize your collective sixteenth birthday. You… admittedly kind of lost your shit. It was embarrassing. You all had recently died to get there, you all had new planetary issues to deal with, new environments, the fucking skeletons, and you seemed to be the only one still stuck on that. The other three just chattered away over cake and movies and they only noticed that you’d run out when the door slammed.

There will be more people this time. But you’re used to it now. It’ll be fine, probably. You’ll be fine.

You’re doing less fine now. All the different versions of you are rattling around in your head. You sit on the roof, shades left in the workshop, a little chilly but managing. Party of one, you suppose. You keep your knees tucked up under your chin, arms around your legs, and stare out at your budding little town, construction still being done on the town hall. Not at this hour, of course. Everyone’s asleep by now. It’s quiet.

Someone lands on the roof beside you, making you jump.

JOHN: hey.

You don’t respond. John sits down next to you, legs crossed, tilting his head back to look at the stars.

JOHN: thought you’d be asleep by now.  
DIRK: Me?  
DIRK: Nah.  
JOHN: couldn’t sleep?  
DIRK: Don’t make me laugh, Egbert.  
JOHN: …  
DIRK: … Never. 

John nods, looking at you and tilting his head.

JOHN: i don’t think i’ve ever seen you without your shades.  
DIRK: I don’t think I’ve ever seen you without your glasses.  
JOHN: cuz i need them to see, dork!  
JOHN: but, still. you know what i mean. 

He nudges your shoulder with his. You sigh, nodding.

DIRK: No need to anymore. No ocean for the sun to reflect off.  
DIRK: And it’s too dark, regardless. 

The two of you are quiet for a moment.

JOHN: …how’ve you been adjusting to all this?  
DIRK: What do you mean?  
JOHN: you know…  
JOHN: dirt, grass, people, new foods, et cetera.  
DIRK: …It’s been fine. A lot at once, but I’m managing.  
DIRK: You?

John takes a deep breath.

JOHN: having jane’s dad here is a little weird.  
JOHN: because he’s not *my* dad, you know?  
JOHN: i’ll bring something up to him from when i was a kid and he’ll be like “oh, of course son, i remember that,” but he so clearly doesn’t!  
JOHN: i… thought i’d be able to get my dad back with this game. and all i got was a very convincing replica.  
JOHN: don’t get me wrong! i love the guy! but...  
DIRK: It’s not the same.

He’s had this on his mind for a while, huh. You suppose you have, too.

DIRK: I used to think I’d get to meet my Bro.  
JOHN: but you did?  
DIRK: Not Dave. My older brother.  
JOHN: he didn’t raise you?  
DIRK: Ha.  
DIRK: No.

Damn, did no one tell him?

DIRK: He’s been dead for 400 years. Roxy’s mom, too.  
JOHN: oh, jeez, i’m so sorry- 

You wave him off.

DIRK: Don’t worry about it.  
DIRK: We’re in similar boats.  
DIRK: You lost someone you loved and you wanted them back. 

You fight the urge to run as your voice starts to shake.

JOHN: you did too, dirk. 

You stand up. John stands immediately after. He’s never seen you like this. You don’t think anyone’s seen you like this. Is he going to chase you? If you run, will he follow?

JOHN: dirk…  
DIRK: ...  
JOHN: sit back down with me.  
JOHN: i won’t tell anyone that you dropped your cool guy act.  
JOHN: i had other stuff i wanted to ask you about, anyway. 

Your expression must be completely readable. You should have brought your shades. After another deep breath, you relax your shoulders and nod. John offers you a small smile. He sits back down. You don’t.

You’ve always been an impulsive son of a bitch. You take a step towards the edge of the roof. It’s not that high up. And it was only one step.

JOHN: dirk…?

You don’t look back as you kick off the roof, flying up towards the clouds. You just need to get away. Never mind that you’re sabotaging any genuine human connection you have with John, you need to get away. Maybe it’s self destructive. Maybe you don’t care.

You go up, up, further, higher, and can hear John shouting as he races to catch up to you. You glance back, and he waves his hands in some sort of motion. You slam into a wall of solid air, stopped in your tracks, too dazed to keep flying.

John carefully wraps the wind around your arm, pulling you back towards the ground. You try to resist, but the wind somehow clutches you tighter. You let him drag you back down. Still up in the air, John draws you close, pulling you in for a hug. You take it. Maybe you’re shaking. Maybe he’s shaking. Maybe you’re both scared. You voice is still thin when you manage to speak.

DIRK: I’ve got hot chocolate mix in the kitchen.  
DIRK: If you want some.  
JOHN: …  
JOHN: sure.  
JOHN: i’d like that.

If you’re shaking, it’s just because you’re cold. It’s cold up here. You think you flew through a low hanging cloud. Yeah, that’s it. You pull John back towards your place. You may never bring this up later, but it’s okay. You have a good time sitting with John in your kitchen. It doesn’t matter how quiet it is. He understands.

* * *

The Prince’s workshop was not always in a mountain. He once resided on an island far out to sea, swimming or having the Heiress fly him there. For days he would work, and then call upon the Heiress to retrieve him if he was too tired to swim.

One day, however, when the Prince called upon the Heiress she did not respond. As he went to swim, the island sank further into the sea, making it impossible for the Prince to leave. For many days and many nights, the Prince called upon the Heiress, to no avail. After the fifth day, the Prince decided he would get out on his own.

Collecting the feathers from the birds of the island, the Prince began to build wings with which he would fly off the island. He built the frame of a light wood, and melted wax to the frame to attach the feathers. After a few tests, the Prince deemed the wings flight-worthy, soon taking to the skies.

The Prince flew high above his island, looking down upon his workshop. As his attention was turned away, great water spirits made red by their anger rose from the sea, flying up to meet him. With the help of his wings, the Prince managed to escape the spirits, heading back towards shore.

He looked up, noticing the sun. It was bright, making the sea sparkle below. It glimmered and glittered, shining in the Prince’s eyes, blinding him. He flew higher and higher, towards the sun, to try to get away from the light of the sea. As he rose higher, the sun got closer and closer, the air getting hotter and hotter. The wax holding the feathers to the wings began to melt. First, a few feathers fell off. It was to be expected, the Prince was not worried. But as he continued to fly, more and more feathers came loose. The water spirits were still following behind. The last feather fell from his wing, and the Prince began to plummet.

Just as the Prince began to fall, the Heiress, late to heed his calls but on her way nonetheless, was coming across the sea. She saw the great red water spirits, and saw the Prince falling towards the sea. She flew forward, commanding the winds to push the water spirits back into the sea, but she could not catch the Prince before he hit the water. The Heiress searched and searched above the water, but the Prince was nowhere to be seem. She pushed the waters back towards the shore, hoping the Prince would wash up with the tide.

As the Heiress reached the shore, she saw the Prince, unmoving on the sand, the wooden frame of his wings gone. She gasped, commanding the winds once again to push air into his chest, until the Prince sat up, coughing, no longer dead. Foolish, she thought, for the god of the seas to drown in such a way. Unaware of his surroundings, the Prince flew too close to the sun, and paid the price for it. Perhaps, the Prince considered, it would be wiser to have his workshop on land, where he would not have to call upon another to retrieve him.

* * *

You don’t know how these historians would have known about the Imperial drones. You don’t know how they knew you once lived above an endless ocean. You don’t know who could have told them these things. What you do know, however, is that someone comes to your seaside temple one day, some thousand years after the world has been created, and begs you for the body of a man. Jake happens to be there as well, and gives the man the body he desired. And, for kicks, you had Jake give him invincible skin. Why not? The man said he felt invincible, anyway. Might as well make it true.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the whole gender myth thing is an actual greek myth, and poseidon does exactly what the prince did basically. i dont remember the guys name tho. 
> 
> imagine sitting in a tavern and hearing Literally A God tell a story about how she and one of the other gods used to live on a water planet. now make that understandable to your audience. now have a billion other people copy what youve written. that's this mythology.
> 
> next time: tam lin, whatever the other thing i said was. you can tell im writing this so fast bc i have projects i dont wanna do lmao.


	7. The Youth on the Cliff

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After slaying a bothersome witch, the Red Knight and the Page come across a gathering of people looking to sacrifice a young man to a coming sea beast. 
> 
> (perseus and andromeda, but there's two perseuses and andromeda is a dude and also all of them are gods)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey hi and howdy
> 
> on the docket today we got s:collide. somehow that became perseus and andromeda. canon typical violence but described by a detail-oriented prince, allusions to doc scratch, and a surprisingly brutal portrayal of jake

It’s weird, no longer dreaming on Derse. When you sleep, you have real dreams. More often than not, those dreams are memories. They’re not always your memories, though. They’re the memories of other yous, of the versions of yourself that didn’t make it.

You’re sitting next to Dave on LOTAK, Terezi wandering around somewhere behind you. You must have just finished that conversation. He asked how you told your friends. Admittedly, you never really did. Roxy knew because you and Roxy told each other everything as kids. Jake knew because, well. Jane knew you weren’t straight. That was probably the extent of it. It never came up. If you make it out of this, you’ll tell her. 

Distantly, you see a flashing ball of light. Here you go, you guess. Dave asks why the two of you are so awesome. It’s the best fucking question anyone has ever asked.

It feels odd for this book, but you realize that this next story isn't actually about you. It's about Jake. And Dave. And you're there too, bachelor in distress, chained to a rock against the sea. 

* * *

The Red Knight and the Page returned, victorious, head of the slain sea witch in their grasp. They left her cave and all her stone-turned victims behind, walking along the shore, the cliffs alongside sheer, with stairways and landings cut in. 

It was on one such landing that the Page and the Red Knight saw a gathering of people, many with torches and swords, bringing what appeared to be a golden-haired youth along the cliff. They approached, and the crowd parted, curious at the appearance to two strangers, the gods in disguise, interrupting their gathering. At the head of the crowd was a short man with a crown of white and robes of green, a golden scepter in his land. The gods could not see the youth within the crowd, and decided instead to talk to the man.

"What is the meaning of this gathering?" the Red Knight asked.

"We are here to sacrifice a youth to the sea beast, in hopes that it will leave my people alone," the man said, "I am the overseer of this land, and I must keep its people safe."

"Even if it means sacrificing one innocent life?" pondered the Page.

"If it must be done, we shall do it." The man waved his hand, and the crowd moved further along the cliff. The gods could hear chains rattling, and a familiar voice protesting. 

"But that is wrong!" argued the Page, and the man laughed.

"Who are you to tell me us what is right and what is wrong? You are not the Mind Seer, boy."

"We have slain the sea witch that controlled these waters," said the Red Knight, "She no longer controls the sea beasts that have attacked you here. You need not sacrifice this youth." 

"Do not be foolish," scoffed the man, "Look. The sea beast approaches."

The two gods looked at where the man was pointing, and saw the beast. Rising from the water, a creature with glowing eyes and a chitinous black shell roared, quickly swimming towards the cliff. 

The crowd noticed and screamed, but it appeared that their work was completed. The man in the green robes led the crowd to a small space at the top of the cliff, and the two gods could finally see who it was being sacrificed that day. 

Chained against the cliff, a flowing chiton around his form, stood a slender youth with hair like golden wheat and skin of marble. He struggled against the chains, but the iron was clamped tight, and he did not appear strong enough to break them. In a moment of panic, he looked towards the two disguised gods, amber eyes wide and pleading, and called out to them.

"Heroes!" he called, "Do not let this beast devour me! My death will not stop these monsters from arriving - it will only make more come to avenge me!" 

It was in that moment that the two gods recognized the youth before them - it was the Prince, disguised as a noble of the land, not in his typical godly form. The sea beast was getting closer; it would not be long before it arrived to devour its meal.

"Please, good heroes!" begged the Prince, not recognizing his consort and brother, "I will bestow upon you many gifts if you free me from this cliffside!" 

"Fear not, my Prince," the Page said, letting his voice carry, "I will not allow this unjust lord to kill you here." The Page leapt into the air, his wings unfurling, the sea witch's head in hand, rising to meet the beast. Below him, the crowd gasped. The Red Knight rose also, sword in hand, moving to free his brother from the rocks. 

The sea beast finally arrived, snapping its bloody jaws at the gods before it. The Page had not a weapon, and dodged its attacks while the Red Knight tried to free the Prince. The beast snapped at the Knight, dragging him away from his brother by the cloak. In a flash, the chains holding the Prince broke, as the Prince was captured in the beast's jaws, a long, jagged tooth through the Prince's neck. The Prince gasped for air, going limp in the beast's clutch. The Page let out a scream as rage-filled and beastly as the creature before him, flying close to it and forcing it to look at the sea witch's severed head, her lifeless eyes turning the monster to stone. It began to sink into the sea, the Prince still in its maw, and the Red Knight struggled to free him. He cut at the monster's turned-stone teeth until he could get the Prince free, but the Prince was dead. 

The Page flew back to the top of the cliff, the sea witch's head still in his grasp. He beckoned for the man in green to step forward.

"You are the lord of this land, correct?" asked the Page.

The man nodded.

"Have you a son, milord?

"Aye, sir, three sons reaching adulthood," said the man. 

"Then your people shall still be with a ruler. May this statue remind them of your errors." The Page looked upon the man in the green robes with disdain, holding the head of the witch up once again. The man gasped, reaching out to the Page, but it was too late - in seconds, the man turned to stone. The Page put away the witch's head, and the Red Knight landed beside him, carrying the body of the Prince. 

"Sea creatures shall no longer attack your land," the Page declared to the waiting crowd, "May this be a lesson."

The Page and the Red Knight took the Prince's body back the temple of the Maid, and with one touch, the hole in the Prince's neck healed, and the Prince awoke, grateful to his rescuers. 

* * *

Sometimes, you find yourself back in this space. 

You’re sixteen. You’ve just met your brother. You’re probably about to die. 

You do die. 

Twice, actually.

The sound of gunfire is not new to you, but machine guns are. Bullets are not new to you, but bullets ripping rapidfire through your torso are. Soul splitting is not new to you, but having your timelines forcibly split it. You shock back to life, still standing, Dave and Terezi sparing you only the slightest relieved glance before returning to the battle.

The thing you’re fighting is, perhaps, the most terrifying thing you’ve seen in your life. He looks exactly like the other guy, a carapacian Bishop, but between the two there’s a key difference. The first guy - Spades Slick, you’re later informed - wears a hat, has an eyepatch, and is partially robotic. The second guy on the other hand, Lord Jack, has eyes that flash with every color you’ve seen on Lord English, shedding multicolored light across the LOTAK rooftop. He is yelling, constantly. He appears to be in pain. Blood flies from his mouth, and seeps from his eyes. 

You get caught off-guard. He smacks you across the face with that fucking crowbar. You fall to your knees. You can feel him behind you, and barely manage to get your sword up before he’s pulling you into a chokehold. Originally, you thought that the crowbar had been painted, but you were wrong. It’s iron, unpainted, corroded and rusted to all hell. You can smell the iron. The flat of your blade digs into the metal. A few flakes of rust fall. Behind Jack, Slick leaps, using his staff to catch him in the same chokehold Jack has you in. Jack spits blood into your hair. You can’t hold on much longer.

Shades make it hard to tell when you’re looking someone in the eye. You hate looking people in the eye. Dave looks to you. You know he knows what you’re thinking. You watch his face go blank, solemn. You closed your eyes when it originally happened. You couldn’t help think what was going through his head as he swung at you, if it felt like some kind of revenge, and how, despite the circumstances, you could have sworn you had seen the word Just burn itself into your eyes, the last thing you saw. 

But as Dave swings his sword, severing your head from your neck, you step back. It’s a dream, after all. This must be the perspective of the Dirk that didn’t make it, the one that was Heroic, the one they couldn’t save. Dave slices through the three of you, three heads cut off in one swoop. Slick’s head falls to the ground. Jack’s begins to levitate. Yours seems frozen in midair, your blood a wave behind Dave’s blade. Two more Daves appear. One catches your head. The other catches your body. Both vanish. You turn, and see Dave get an arm around Terezi, and start flying her back to the victory platform. You start to follow, and notice your arms are translucent. There’s a cough behind you. Another Dirk, much different than how you look, is watching the scene play out again. Your death, Heroic or Just, is on loop for eternity, for endless Dirks to reexperience endless times. 

He waves to you. 

You wave back. 

Behind you, LOTAK explodes.

* * *

On the victory platform, the two other Daves appear as the Dave you fought with lands with Terezi. You’re the last people there. Jake sees you first. Jane approaches the fastest, kneeling, hands glowing. 

Blue light surrounds your body. 

Your head reunites with your neck. You watch the flesh stitch itself back together. One moment, you’re staring at the group that stares at your body, and the next, you’re the one being stared at, the body that blinks awake and looks at everyone and is embraced.

It’s a space you find yourself back in. The space where all the other Dirks reside. The space where other Dirks die. 

You’re no longer sixteen. At this point, you’re twenty-one, living in the Consort Kingdom, isolated and away from the bustle of any type of city. Jungle birds caw in the early morning. You fell asleep at your worktable again. You stretch, the thin light of dawn coming watery through the windows. Another muggy morning. You sigh, and go downstairs to get coffee. The clock informs you that it’s 5:30 AM. The sun barely peeks over the horizon.

Upstairs, the shower starts up. You’re still covered in oil. Jake hums loud enough for you to hear in the kitchen. You’re not sure how he wound up in the story. He was not the one to kill the Condesce. Neither was Dave. Maybe a sea witch simply was made up, and they were the ones to kill it. Naturally, it would lead them to you, foolish Andromeda, disguised and unable to run. Dave is usually the hero, in epic stories like that. Jake is there too, loyal to Knights and Princes, the trusty Page. You could always count on him for a cheer, a smile, a song.

There’s a twinge in your neck as you sip your coffee, but you smile as his hums turn to half-sung words.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> surprise! he actually died in this one
> 
> last: tam lin, and thatll be it! im gonna look through later for mistakes, but its three AM and i wrote this last night on my phone at 4 AM so. chillin. catch me frantically looking up what a male version of damsel in distress is. much love and appreciation to everyone who has commented and left kudos, yall really are what keeps me writing lol. 
> 
> *sprinkles in my dirk headcanons like pepper over a soup*


	8. Eve of All Spirits (The Enchanted Prince)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On the Eve of All Spirits, the Faerie Queen rides, her captive at her side. The Page swears to free him, no matter the cost.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> here it is, last one! i cranked this one out after seeing a folk tale play that, to my surprise, had tam lin in it, and i had to commit everything to memory and write it before i lost it. so, here's tam lin, or, everything i could reasonably fit of tam lin into a way that made sense with my godly canon.

The last tale in the book isn’t one you can put a real, lived experience on. Even when you catch back up to modern day, the way the tale plays out isn’t ever something you physically did. You can at least put some kind of real experience on the other tales, but this one… it’s hard to tell. There are many things it could be. Not all tales have to be based on true events, but you find yourself trying to put experiences in the events of the story, and you find that you actually… can’t.

It’s weird. You don’t even die in this one.

You’re dead before it even starts.

* * *

The Witch and the Page were known for their hunts. For days they would wander in the wood, the Witch’s pack of dogs close behind, until their quarry - either a great beast or simply dinner - had been caught. However, once such hunt had been cut short. 

Around midday, the Witch noticed the golden-red leaves falling from the trees, and felt the cold air of a coming winter blowing around her, and realized that this night was the Eve of All Spirits. The Maid’s harvest had just finished, and the faeries and spirits would be out tonight, to wander and harvest on their own.

“Brother,” said the Witch, “Perhaps we should return home.”

“Why, sister?” answered the Page, nocking another arrow, “It is not yet nearly sundown.”

“Tonight is the Eve of All Spirits,” said the Witch, “and I have heard the people in town say that the Prince’s soul still wanders here. It was seven years ago on this very night that he vanished, on a hunt in these very woods. 

“They say he went deeper and deeper into the wood, until it was too dark to see, when he came upon a rose bush in full bloom, despite it being so late in the season. When he tried to pick the roses, they vanished, one by one, until only one rose remained. As he tried to pick it, the brambles pierced his skin and he died, never to be seen again. They say he tries to make those caught out at night take his place, so that he can be free.”

“Then I must stay!” said the Page, standing firm, “If the Prince wanders these wood then I must be the one to return him.”

“Do not be foolish, brother,” said the Witch, “The Prince is dead. It is not possible for him to still wander. We should return home; we have plenty of game for tonight’s feast.”

But the Page did not want to hear it. He turned away from the Witch and went further and further into the forest, until her voice faded in the distance. The trees grew denser and denser, until it was nearly like night. In a clearing in the dense wood, the Page came across a rose bush, still in full bloom despite the late season. He slowly approached, reaching out to pick one of the roses, but as he got close, the rose vanished. Again and again he tried to pick the roses, but again and again they disappeared into the bush until only one remained. He reached out to pick the last rose, the fairest of the bunch, but attached to its stem, brambles wrapped around his form, was the Prince. 

The Page gasped as the Prince, brambles shackling his ankles and wrists, stepped out of the rose bush, flowers growing from his shoulders, sticks and leaves in his hair.

“My Prince!” said the Page, “What has happened, where have you been?”

“Good Page,” said the Prince, “I do not have much time. Seven years ago I did hunt in these woods, and came across this very rose bush. As I tried to pick the roses, still in bloom despite the late season, they each vanished, until only one remained. As I picked the last rose, the brambles dug into my hand and pulled me in, into the land of the faeries. It is always twilight there, never day, never night. It is always springtime, the chill of winter never changing. There is always a revel, and never a dull moment. But I am the captive of the Faerie Queen, and she will not let me go.” 

The Prince took the Page’s hands, imploring him. “My good Page, if you wish to free me, return to the wood tonight with nothing but a shawl and a jug of water from the Maid’s well. The Faerie Queen rides tonight, and will bring me with her. I will fall from my horse; wrap your shawl around me, sprinkle the water around, and do not let me go until daybreak, no matter what the Faerie Queen does. She will do all in her power to not let me escape. I cannot stay in the land of the faeries, though. I fear that despite my many deaths, if I stay in the Queen’s realm, I will surely die, and never return.”

“I shall return,” said the Page, “I shall not let the Faerie Queen keep you in her realm.”

“Thank you,” said the Prince, “I do not know what will happen if I am forced to stay any longer.”

Distantly, the Page could hear the Witch calling for him, and he turned his head towards the sound. He looked back to the Prince, but the Prince was gone, nothing but a single pink rose lying at the Page’s feet. The Page returned to the Witch, and the two went home, for tonight was the Spirit’s Feast.

During the party, the Page told many guests of the Prince’s whereabouts.

“The Prince lives!” said the Page.

“Foolish boy,” said the guests, “The Prince of Heart is dead.”

Later on, the Heir took his brother by the arm, steering him away from the crowd.

“Brother,” said the Heir, “I am hosting this party, and cannot let you disturb my guests with your tales.”

“It’s not a tale!” protested the Page, “The Prince lives, and I saw him. Tonight he rides with the Faerie Queen, and I must rescue him.”

“Do not be foolish,” said the Heir, “The Prince has been dead for seven years, and will not return. I know that his absence has been difficult for you, but perhaps it is time you move on.”

The Page pulled his arm out of the Heir’s grasp. “You insult me, brother. I will not move on. I will bring the Prince back tonight.” With that, the Page stormed out of the dining hall, all the guests staring after him. He collected a shawl and a jug of water from the Maid’s well, blessed and holy, and set out once more for the forest. 

As midnight approached, the Page wound his way deeper and deeper into the wood. He reached the clearing, the normally dark area alight with colorful glass lanterns - purple, red, blue, green, orange, pink - as faeries danced around the rose bush. The Page stayed hidden, and from the other side of the clearing, a trumpet, brassy and incandescent, sounded. A hush fell over the revelers as the Queen of the Faeries, elegant and rosy, rode out on an incorporeal steed. The Prince followed on horseback close behind her, face covered with a stone mask. 

The Page ran out among the silent crowd, pulling the Prince from his steed and wrapping the shawl around his shoulders. He sprinkled the water around them in a circle, holding tight to his Prince and not letting go. 

The air turned chill. The Faerie Queen stepped down from her horse, and approached the Page.

“Let him go,” said the Queen.

“Never,” said the Page.

“Please, do not let me go,” whispered the Prince. The Page held him tighter.

“Give him  _ back,” _ demanded the Queen.

“I will not,” said the Page, “You cannot have him.”

The Queen of the Faeries growled, raising her arms. All of the lanterns went out. All of the revelers turned to wolves, jumping at the Page and the Prince, but none could break the holy water circle. The wolves turned and fled. The Queen raised her arms again, and serpents came slithering from the forest, biting at the Prince and Page, but none could break the holy water circle. With all her might, the Queen summoned the elements, lightning crashing around the clearing, her scream of  _ Give him back! _ ever present on the winds, but the Page did not let him go.

“Fine,” said the Faerie Queen, “Perhaps that was too easy. If you do not let him go, I will make it so that no one can have him!” She stomped on the ground, and around the holy water circle, from the depths of the earth, the Queen summoned fire, an inferno roaring around the two gods, but the Page did not let go. The fire died down. The Page had not let go of the Prince, and light was starting to peek over the horizon. The Faerie Queen looked to the east, knowing her time was nearly up.

“You will not let him go, will you?” she said.

“Not until the sun has risen and he is no longer your captive,” said the Page.

“You mean to take away my one love?” said the Faerie Queen. The Page bristled, but the Prince spoke up.

“I do not love you,” he said voice weak, “Day is breaking, wicked Queen. I will no longer consort with you.”

The sun crested over the horizon, the first rays of day piercing the dense wood. The Faerie Queen pointed at the two gods, cold. 

“I will not forget what you have done here tonight, Page. I will return one day.” She turned away from him, her court slowly emerging from the treeline. “Go, Prince. You are free.” The Queen of the Faeries left, court trailing behind her, and vanished into the forest.

Quickly, the Page and the Prince returned to the home of the gods, reunited after seven years, and there was much rejoicing and merriment. After some time, the Prince and the Page were wed. However, the Faerie Queen’s threat still lingered at the back of the Page’s mind. She swore to return one day. The Page swore, in turn, to not return to those woods. There were plenty of other forests to hunt in, and only one Prince, after all.

* * *

It’s not rare to see fairies in books and tales. Sure, a vengeful fairy queen could exist in other tales, why not this one. The only even you find odd is the marriage part. You and Jake aren’t married. That never seemed necessary. Romances always end in marriage, anyway. It’s something someone made up millennia ago. 

You can’t shake the feeling, though, that the Faerie Queen of the story was meant to be the Condesce. There are implications there that you don’t want to think about. This book has had a lot of those, in retrospect. 

You put the book back in your backpack and zip it up. You’ve got another class to attend. Literature history lecture. Afterwards, one of your classmates, not recognizing you as anyone other than Dirk, the kid from class who sits in the back who, yes, he knows, has the same name as a Creator, will glance at your bag and see the book, and ask why you’re reading fairy tales like those. They never actually happened, anyway, even if the gods are real. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thats a wrap! i dont know what im gonna do after this, but if there is anything, ill be sure to keep yall posted. thank you all so much for all of the comments and kudos. it means so much, and im going to go back in and respond to any lingering questions i forgot to answer previously. see you all then!!


End file.
